


The Will of the Scribes

by RaimeBlackwater



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Novelization, Will Add Tags As They Become Relevant, i swear I'm working on the next chapter its just proving to be really tricky, male!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaimeBlackwater/pseuds/RaimeBlackwater
Summary: The Scribes conquered this land long before your exile.  They have laid the foundation for your freedom.  You have to power to lead your fellows back to glory.  But others seek their freedom as well.  Can you overcome them? Can you sacrifice their freedom for your own? The Rites await you, Reader.





	The Will of the Scribes

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first thing I have ever posted. I have no idea how people will respond to this, but I guess that's half the journey. This fic is meant to be a re-telling of my own journey through Pyre, with my Reader and making my decisions. It can sort of be looked at as Canon+. I'll stick to Canon, but I'll be adding in plenty of character moments, and altering things based on how the Reader acts. If people like it, I'd be happy to keep going. I hope you enjoy.

Your exile in the Downside has been slow, grueling torment from day one.  Six months ago you were cast down the River Sclorian into exile.  For six months you have tried your best to survive.  Six months of desperation, fear, hope, and betrayal have led you to this point: dragging your wounded body inch by agonizing inch across the Sandfolds, dry and cracked hands clawing through rough sand, legs dragging uselessly behind you.

The events of the last week come back to you, unbidden.  The settlement in Jomuer Valley.  The Cur you befriended.  Finding her dead in her tent.  A mob accusing you of killing her.  Denying.  Crying.  Running. 

The howler attack of two nights past was when things turned dire.  By the time you realized that you had stumbled into a next of the little devils, they were all over you.  You suffered through their assault for what seemed ages, screaming out in the vague hope someone would find you as the tiny beasts bit and clawed their way across your legs, arms, torso, and face.  By the time help arrived, you couldn’t speak from the pain.  A small group of Exiles found you in the midst of the howlers and chased them off with torches.  Any hope that you were to be rescued soon vanished; one look at your torn and bloodied body and they declared you beyond saving.  You still remember the look of pity on their faces as they turned and left you to your fate.  You suppose you should thank the Scribes they didn’t put you out of your misery then and there.

And so you find yourself here, in the Sandfolds, not knowing where to go but desperately moving forward, in the hopes that someone, anyone, would chance across you and lend you aid. 

You stop your slow crawl across the wastes to catch your breath.  You glance at the back of your left hand.  A five-pointed star, with three arrows descending from the top point, marks the back of your hand.  A scar, carved into your hand with a heated knife before your exile, forever marking you for the crime of literacy.  Forever marking you as a Reader. The same marking that is on the back of your cloak, the only thing given to you before you were thrown in a cage and tossed into the River Sclorian.  The only thing you have left from the Commonwealth that was once your home.

You glance up from your brief respite.  A familiar sight enters your vision.  In the distance, you see cliffs rising up, marking the southern-most boundary of the Sandfolds.  And running through them, visible even from this distance, a large crack in the cliff face.  You recognize it as the entrance to the Downside; through that small gully lies the mouth of the River Sclorian.  Though it is impossible to swim up the waterfall back to the Commonwealth, it does mean water.  And after almost three days without water, it means hope that you will survive another day.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes you two hours to crawl your way to the base of the cliffs.  You almost pass out from exhaustion along the way, but careful pacing and the allure of fresh water keep you going.  Once you get near the cliffs, however, you are met with a sight that drains all hope from you.

The entrance to the gully lies atop a sheer ten-foot ledge.  If you were well, you could scale it with little difficulty.  But your wounded legs will not respond properly, and even if your arms weren’t dead from dragging your body across the wastes, you doubt you could pull your way up the ledge.

The fear begins to set in.  You are going to die.  You are going to die of thirst mere minutes away from water.  Your only hope is that the Commonwealth sends another exile to the Downside before you succumb, and that the exile survives the trip down the falls.

You collapse.  Its all just too much.  Six months of trying to survive, scrambling around to try and live another day, and your time in exile is going to end right where it began.  You can see the piles of cages that line the gully, bent and broken from their trip downriver.  You can see the scavenger birds perched on top of them.  Barely a few yards separate you from survival, but for you that distance may as well have been miles. You feel like crying, but your body doesn’t have the water for it.  With the last bit of hop you had gone, you slip into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

A rumbling sound pulls you back awake.  The sun lies low in the sky now, and as you open your eyes you can make out what appears to be a wagon rolling into view.  It stops near you, and three figures come out.  As they walk towards you, you see they are dressed in strange robes, and are wearing white masks that completely obscure their faces. Your eyes won’t focus enough to make out more.

One of them speaks up.

“Hm. Another piece of filth expelled from the Commonwealth.”

The deep voice holds neither disdain nor pity. It comes from the larger of the three figures. At this, a lighter, more jovial voice comes from the smallest of the group.

“See, right on schedule!  What’d I tell you?”

“You told us we would find someone alive.”

“Someday!  I said we’d find someone alive someday. Just not today I guess, but don’t be glum! You know I see you frowning underneath that mask.”

The third figure speaks up, “Looks like he’s breathing.” It is a man’s voice, more gentle then the other two.

“It seems he still is,” says the deep-voiced figure. “Then stand aside. I shall send him to a better place.”

“He’s a he?” asks the second figure, “How can you people tell? His face is covered.”

“Hang on.” The third figure moves toward you and kneels down. “The markings on his rags. And here, on his hand.  I think he’s one of them”

“But look at him,” says the deeper voice, that you place as belonging to a woman, “He is beyond our help, and we are beyond his.”

“Broken, shaking, starving, probably diseased…” You hear the smallest one inhale through his teeth. “Yeah, good luck with that there, chum!  See you back at the wagon.”

You try to move, but can barely lift your head.  You try to speak, but only a rasp escapes your dry throat. The large woman looks down at you, then at her companion.

“The day grows dim.  You have at best an hour.”

“Understood.  I won’t be long.”

The largest and smallest figure go back to their wagon.  The third figure reaches out and gentle rolls you onto your back.  He feels your forehead, takes your pulse, then reaches up to his face and unfastens his mask.

“Hello, my friend.  Don’t care who you are or what you did, none of that matters anymore.  All of us, we’re equal nothings here.”

As your eyes begin to focus, you can make out the man’s smiling face from under a shock of red hair, help back a blue strip of cloth. He reaches into his robes and pulls out a canteen.

“Here.  Drink this.”

Over the next hour the man tends to you.  You drink all the water in his canteen, and in the next two he brings you.  He takes some water to clean your wounds, and binds them with cloth from the wagon. He brings out some soup for you as well.  Slowly, you begin to regain a modicum of strength.

“Who……” You try again. “Who……are…….you…..?”  Your voice comes out in a rasp.  It seems your damaged throat needs more than a bit of water to fully recover.

The man smiles at this. “There we go. Turns out your tougher than you look. Name’s Hedwyn. Now, come on.”

“Can’t…….walk……. Legs…….” you rasp out.

Hedwyn helps you into a sitting position, then moves to get your clothes that were removed so he could tend to your wounds. Your legs are bandaged tightly, from your thighs all the way to your feet, with some space left loose for your joints.  Your chest and stomach were bandaged where the worst of the cuts were. Your forearms, hands, and fingers are in the same state.  And your face is wrapped so that your forehead and left eye are covered.

Hedwyn helps you into your pants and tunic, still slashed up and stained with dried blood.  He moves to help you up, but you reach out for your cloak.  After donning it and putting the hood up, you allow Hedwyn to help you to your feet.  He supports your weight as you try to convince your legs to cooperate.  With Hedwyn’s help, you manage to shuffle along towards what you now recognize as a blackwagon, the large vehicles that the Commonwealth used to transport prisoners.

 

* * *

 

 

The blackwagon is as worn down on the inside as it looks on the outside.  Cobwebs stretch across the ceiling when some of the wagon’s drive-imps perch.  Some of the same blue robes with red trim as Hedwyn wears hang on a wall, with various white masks. Various rucksacks and personal items a strewn about the floor. Among the clutter, you notice two things.  First, Hedwyn’s companions.  They still wear their blue robes and masks, but now that you are recovered you can see them clearly.  The smaller man, you now see, is no man at all, but a Cur. The quadruped sits on the floor next to the woman, his tail wagging underneath his robes.  The large woman towers over him, but her height is not as striking as the two great curved horns that emerge from her head, marking her as a Demon. Her mask does nothing to cover this; indeed, the mask seems to have been made for a demon, as it rests not only on her face, but curves outward with her horns. The two of them appear to be looking at something on one side of the wagon.

“I’m back,” Hedwyn speaks up as the two of you approach.

They turn to look at you. “And with a guest,” says the Demon.  She reaches up to remove her mask and lower her hood. The face that looks back at you is lined with age, yet her stature implies that she is no weaker for it.  Her long blonde hair is tied off in a thick braid to one side, and her blue-grey eyes look at you fiercely, but without hostility. Her horns are even more prominent without the mask, and only add to her imposing appearance.

“You may call me Jodariel.”

“And as for myself!” pipes up the Cur as he struggles with his own mask.  After he lets out a grunt of frustration, Jodariel reaches over to assist. He cries out when the mask is pulled off with a bit too much force. “That is to say, you may regard me by the name of Rukey Greentail.” The Cur’s fur is white, and he reaches up to give you a jaunty salute with one paw.  You can see a gold tooth in his lower jaw, and he has a small curly mustache at the end of his muzzle.

Jodariel, meanwhile, motions to get Hedwyn’s attention. “Can he do it?”

“Hope so,” Hedwyn replies, as he leads you over to a seat near the others, “I haven’t asked him yet.”

“What?! Then what are we waiting for?” Rukey shoots a sidelong look at Hedwyn as he walks over to you. “Heya chum! Nice meeting you and all, but tell me something. You know how to read or what?”

Rukey asks you the question casually, but you can see the others watching you carefully.  Your cloak and the scar on your hand should be all the answer they need.  Only Readers are branded when they are exiled.  The mark is cause for scorn and mockery from some, and outright fear and superstition from others.  Having your crime on display for all to see has caused you no end of trouble in the Downside. If these people wanted to harm you for what you could do, it wouldn’t be the first time.  But their earlier conversation suggests the needed a Reader for something.  _And besides_ , you think to yourself, _they wouldn’t help a dying man just to hurt him again._

You hold up your left hand for them to see. “Yeah…..I can read,” you say.  Your voice is beginning to return to you. At the very least, you no longer need to swallow after every word to keep your throat from protesting.

At this, the Cur’s face lights up. “Well then, glory days! Because it just so happens my associates and I, we got ourselves some nice material here for someone just like you.”

Your eyes widen when you hear this, as much as they can, given your bandages. “You…you have books? ….Here?” The Commonwealth’s usual policy when it came to proscribed literary material was to put it to the torch.  To find untouched books here in the Downside is enough to make you lower your guard around these people.

You look past them.  You see that what Jodariel and Rukey were standing over before was in fact a literal pile of books.  Or rather, a pile of many copies of the same book.  You look back to see Jodariel staring intently at you.

“Reader,” she says, her voice taking on a commanding tone, “You still live thanks to us. We ask for something modest in exchange. Open one of those books back there, and tell us what it says.”

You look at the three of them. They atmosphere in the wagon has changed noticeably.  Hedwyn’s friendly smile and Rukey’s energy are nowhere to be found.  In their place is a sense of wariness and anticipation.  Whatever is going on, these people very much want to know what is written in those books.  And they _did_ save your life….

And all that aside, you love to read.

“Bring one to me,” you say, gesturing at the books, “My legs aren’t……”

Hedwyn picks up a book and sets it on a side table next to you. “Sorry to put you on the spot like this, friend.” He gives an apologetic smile, but then steps back and watches you carefully.

You begin to feel a bit self-conscious, as all three of the Exiles are staring at you intently.  You pull the hood of your cloak down a bit further over your eyes, then reach for the book.

As soon as your fingers touch the tome, your mind is flooded with images.  Towering monsters walking a nightmare landscape.  A black void suddenly filled with many stars.  Blue fire, blazing high into the air. A symbol….

You pull your hand back, staring at the book. _What WAS that?!?_

“Are you alright?” asks Hedwyn, looking concerned.  You glance at him, then look back to the book. It is bound in a material you aren’t familiar with. There is no title on the cover; instead, what appears to be a crystal hemisphere or lens of some sort is mounted in the middle, and through the smooth surface, you see the same symbol that sprung into your mind.  As if someone tried to draw a five-pointed star, but veered off at the last second.

_Was it sorcery?_ you think to yourself, frowning. _If its some Bog-Witch’s magic tome, I could see why they might want it.  But if they can’t read what’s in it, what good does it do them?_

“It’s fine,” you say, taking the book in your hands.  This time no images spring forth into your mind, but you can _feel_ the energy coming from the book.  It is surprisingly thick, but also lighter than you thought it would be for its size. You look at the symbol on the front one last time, then open the book.

The pages within are not the white paper you were expecting, but black, with an intricate golden pattern decorating the outer edge of each page.  Other than this pattern, however, there is nothing on the pages.  No written words for you to read.  You flip through the book to confirm.  Each black page stares back at you, blank.

“Its empty,” you say aloud. “There’s nothing written in here at…”  You trail off.  You turned to the front of the book, and before your very eyes, golden words appear on the left page.  On the right, a picture of a robed and masked figure, pointed up at a constellation: the same shape that marks the front cover.

You read the words to yourself, your good eye widening as you go:

 

 

* * *

 

**FOREWARD**

_A Formal Welcome Undersigned by the Eight Scribes_

  * You, dear Reader, are an Exile of the Downside, such as we, the eight who wrote this Book of Rites. That you possess it, and have capacity to glean it words, is testament enough to your potential.



 

  * Thus we reveal a path from this forsaken place, to freedom! A homecoming in glory.



 

  * The stars themselves shall be your guide. Ere the turning of the year’s first solstice, seek the nearest longitude beneath the brightest of eight as the align as shown.



 

  * Arrive as a Triumvirate, clad in the Raiments of the Rites, bearing this Book.



 

  * Oblige the voice that tells you more.



 

 

* * *

 

 

Your head begins to throb as you read the words. _A way to leave the downside? Not only that, to go back to the Commonwealth?_ The very possibility send a thrill through your whole body, almost enough to let you ignore the lingering pain.  You quickly turn to the next page, but no words spring forth. Hedwyn’s voice brings you back to the present.

“Well, friend?  What does it say?”

“It…..” you begin, but before you can continue, the throbbing in your head grows fierce.  Your vision fills with black fog, and you feel yourself falling as you lose consciousness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You jolt awake.  You find yourself laying in an unfamiliar, surreal landscape. All around you a great fog stretches out as far as you can see.  You pull yourself up.  You try to stand, but your legs still won’t hold your weight.  As you settle into a sitting position, you see ahead of you a sight that you can barely make sense of.  Before and below you stretches out what appears to be a giant book, with the same black pages of the one you held not moments ago.  The book lays open and flat, and on the edge of each page rests a crest of some sort whose designs you do not recognize. Straight out ahead of you, above and beyond the great book, you see the same constellation drawing that was revealed to you in the book back in the wagon.  And looming over that…

**_READER!  DARE YOU TAMPER WITH FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE?_ **

The icon of a great figure, robed, masked, and wearing a long white wig, towers over the whole seen.  The echoing voice seems to come from above, and indeed, as the voice calls down to you the image’s mask glows a brighter white in time with the words.

**_‘TIS TRUE WHAT THE BOOK SAYS. YOU CAN BE FREE AGAIN._ **

The voice echoes through your whole being, as if you aren’t hearing it with your ears, but with your very essence.

**_PERHAPS NOT YOU YOURSELF, BUT SOMEONE WORTHY OF THE PRIVILEGE._ **

As you listen, the pain in your head begins to return.  You feel as though your head is expanding….

**_YOU WITNESS NOW THE PATH TOWARD SALVATION._ **

You feel as though _you_ are expanding….

**_YOU WITNESS… THE RITES!_ **

You look down towards the book, clutching your head.  You can feel something happening, you can feel….

**_THE ONE WAY TO RETURN TO GLORY! THOUGH IN YOUR CASE…._ **

The symbols on each page flare with energy, the burst into a great conflagration: the right flame pale yellow with a light green center, the left flame pure blue with an red core.

**_…I HARDLY THINK IT POSSIBLE._ **

_Blue and red,_ you think through the pain, _just like…._

**_YET BY THE GRACE OF THE SCRIBES IT IS MY DUTY TO INFORM YOU ANYHOW._ **

At this three familiar figures fall out of the blue flame, clad in blue and red robes, and wearing white masks.  You sense, more than recognize, that they are Hedwyn, Jodariel, and Rukey. 

The pain in your head surges to unbearable levels, and then…. disappears. In its place, you feel a sense of clarity you have not experienced since before your exile.

“It worked.”  The voice is Hedwyn’s, and though he is far below you, you hear is voice as if you were next to him.

“So it is true,” says Jodariel, softly.  She is astonished by what she sees, and stands in awe of what this means for her and her friends. _Wait,_ you think, _how did I know…..?_

“Yeah, but what now?” says Rukey as he looks around him. “And where’d the Reader go?”

You manage to find your voice at last. “Here…. I’m up here!” You wave one of your arms as you strain your voice.  But none of the three react to your cries.

“He should be out there still,” says Hedwyn calmly.  “For now, we have to put our faith in him.”

_They can’t see me,_ you realize. Perhaps the fog around you obscures you from their sight, or perhaps there is more to this place than you can comprehend.

Jodariel turns to Heddwyn. “He could abandon us.”

“He won’t,” says Hedwyn.  He believes it. He has complete faith that you won’t leave them behind.

There it is again, a flood of emotions that are not your own. You shake your head to try and focus your thoughts as Hedwyn steps forward from the flame. “Reader!” he calls out, “We aim to free ourselves! We will not grow old and die in the Downside!”

_So that’s why…._ You realize it as he speaks. _They knew about this, about these ‘Rites’.  They wanted my help because they needed a Reader to escape…_

“And now, I swear to you!” Hedwyn continues, his voice full of conviction, “When we get out of here, you’re going to come with us! But first, we need your help. Show us the way!”

Freedom.  In your six months in the Downside, you have never entertained the idea of escape.  You gave up any hope of living the life that was taken from you.  And now, before your very eyes, a means to escape your exile has appeared. 

Your breath quickens.  Hedwyn saved you when you were on the brink of death.  He and the others gave you this chance to escape.  You clench your fists, only to realize that you still hold the book from the wagon in your left hand.

The Book of Rites.

With a grunt, you push yourself to your knees, then, carefully, to your feet.  You stand as straight as your body will allow.  You close your eyes, and take a deep breath.  Then another.  You let the Book fall open in your left hand, and open your eyes.

“Very well.”

**Author's Note:**

> And there we have it. Honestly, I was originally planning to include the entire tutorial Rite as well, but I expect that will be quite the large section. It could easily be most of Chapter 2 on its own. Of course, that's assuming people want more of this. So if you have any comments, critiques, or compliments, please feel free to leave them. And I guess we'll see where this goes.
> 
> \- Raime


End file.
